


A bit of warmth

by MDCBD



Series: IronStrange Drabbles & Short stories [2]
Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), Fluff, Gen, Injury, Is it gen or is it not, The Cloak of Levitation needs its character tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-03
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-16 15:37:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18694363
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MDCBD/pseuds/MDCBD
Summary: For my dear Amethyst-Noir on Tumblr and Arbonne on Ao3 :Since I know that you love angst: How about a little something where Stephen hurts something doing something normal/stupid because of his hands and is too embarrassed to get Tony's help? And Tony finds him, frustrated and angry at himself, trying to patch himself up...





	A bit of warmth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arbonne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arbonne/gifts).



Things were calm today.

Rarely was that the case, so Stephen had decided he would settle for a quiet afternoon near one of the Sanctum's constently lit fireplace (he and his hands liked being warm).

He knew logically that it was probably one of those 'calm before the storm' times, and that he should probably be looking for the reason things were so quiet but even he knew that rest was due from time to time. He would help no one being dead on his feet.

So after lunch (which he had trouble eating so he decided to hastily throw everything into a sandwich), he sat down on a comfortable seat with a cup of tea and a book on a table nearby in case he felt like reading, waiting for the evening and its tasks to come.

The Cloak had lifted off his shoulders some hours ago, leaving to do whatever it did when it wasn't with its partner (it felt weird to consider himself as the Cloak's master with how much personality and how older it was than him, even if he was now way older in mind than when they first met, the Cloak had gone with him during his temporal adventure in the Dark Dimension and was still centuries if not a millena older), and Wong was back in Kamar-Taj to ensure his duties as its librarian.

Sometimes Stephen would feel lonely in the big and quiet of the Sanctum. Not quite as much as he did in his old New York flat, back when he still didn't know best about the reality of the world around him, but still. Kaecilius and his zealots had killed all the students of the New York Sanctum, and even though he was now a real Master of the Mystic Arts and the Master of the New York Sanctum, he knew he wasn't ready to teach, but maybe in a year or two (or three).

That's what he had told the other sorcerers when they proposed to send students that, as the Master of the Sanctum, he decided to refuse.

Still, it felt a bit lonely.

His phone buzzed beside him and he put the cup of tea that he had been quietly sipping for the past minutes down and lifted it with interest.

With trembling hands, he unlocked it, frowning when he had to do the model a second time (it was easier than the password, still) and saw that he had received an audio from a contact labelled _Anthony E. Stark_ (he liked putting full names, sue him).

He clicked on it and put his phone down again to listen while drinking his tea.

 _Strange,_ started Stark's voice. _I'll be coming to the Sanctum a bit earlier. Someone I know did something incredibly stupid today and I had to cut a meeting short to help them, so I'm free two hours early. Please tell me if that's okay with you._

Stephen hummed. The meeting had been set a week ago, when they first met. The man (the _Iron_ Man), had pulled out of a car in front of his Sanctum, eyes squinting behind his sunglasses while he took in the mundane-looking building.

He had apparently heard about the story of a weird bald person (the Ancient One, he though with a pang of grief) who crashed onto the ground just to then be taken away by two equally weirdly dressed men from someone (who, he doesn't know) and had decided to check it out quickly.

How the man had gone from that to him in such a short notice, he wasn't sure, nor why he had decided to investigate it in the first place. Sure it was uncommon, but people supposedly jumping off a building shouldn't have attracted his or anyone's attention (knowing that maybe other people knew was worrying). And he definitely shouldn't have been able to find him.

But he had assured him that it was very unlikely that other people tried to see more into the event than some kind of suicide maybe (and wasn't that sad and reassuring at the same time) and even then without the proper ressources it would've been hard if not impossible to find them, so that his secret - whatever it was - was safe with him.

As long as he was sure they weren't doing anything much suspicious, that is.

Which is why they had to settle a meeting for another time, and why he had Tony Stark's personal number ( _"People would **kill** , for that number. So please don't post it on social media!"_) and was supposed to meet him tonight after an afternoon of rest.

Expect there wouldn't be any rest, apparently.

He let out a sigh.

Stephen took the phone and tried to put his cup down at the same time, but, lucky as ever, the thing escaped his light grip and crashed on ground with a loud noise that made him wince, putting remnants of tea and porcelain everywhere.

Great.

He put the electronic device down and perched down on his heels.

Thankfully, he had almost finished the cup so there was not much tea on the carpet, it would dry in an hour or so. But there were parts of the cup everywhere.

He conjured up a shovel from the cupboard under the kitchen's sink and started picking up the pieces one by one delicately. The work was hard, his grip was light and insecure and he often dropped something involuntary; mentally - and sometimes verbally - cursing his hands and clumsiness.

When he was done he got up and winced a bit; staying so long in such a position hurt his knees which had frequently been hit during a recent training. Sure, his clothes were thick, but there was only so many times you could fall on your four without getting hurt. And after the adrenaline fell, he quickly started feeling pain in all sorts of place he shouldn't hurt, and had crashed down on the nearest couch, then in one of the guest room later.

(He hadn't been in the Master's room yet, he knew Daniel's belongings would still be there and that he would have to put them away for him. He wasn't ready to do that for now so he slept in one of the regular rooms.)

Since he hadn't quite mastered the art of teleporting himself in the Sanctum (only objects for now, with sometimes some unexpected results), he started going down the stairs to the kitchen by foot, holding the shovel with both hands, careful as to not cut himself or make anything fall.

In the kitchen, he put the shovel on the ground, kneeling down to open the cupboard and reach the bin, when he suddenly heard a loud noise echoing from the Sanctum's entrance and hit his head trying to get up too quickly.

Instinctively, he dropped the shovel with a curse and tried to touch his head where he hit himself but he couldn't reach the top of it, so he put his hands on the floor to regain balance and get out of there.

That's, of course, when he cut himself on the broken cup's shards.

Just his luck.

"Damnit!" he hissed sharply and got up, rubbing his scalp with his other hand. It would be just his luck if he had a concussion but thankfully everything seemed normal.

He then thought that it was probably Stark out there in front of the Sanctum, landing in his suit. (Why though? Did he need it for the 'help' he mentioned earlier? Had he been in danger? Could that danger have followed him here— _No._ The man was clever, everything was _fine_ , no need to panick.) He didn't have the time to clean and bandage his hand before he got in.

Unless...

Inhaling sharply while he conjured up a first aid kit (which thankfully didn't turn pink or transformed into a lunch box), he got a clip and tried to use it to get the porcelain out of his angry red and scarred hand.

Of course, that was forgetting the trembling and the pain he would've gotten due to the pressure he had to apply. Everything was slower due to it, and he was dangerously aware that every passing second had Stark getting closer to the door and his frustrated slightly bloody self.

Just as he thought that, the Sanctum's bell rang, and he thought something very impolite about some deity he didn't believe in (the Mystic Arts had opened his mind but that didn't mean he believed in some sort of superior, good-willing and omniscient entity that decided of humanity's fate. If anything, if such entity existed, it would be his job to ensure that they stopped using them as puppets) and decided to just go faster rather than answering, to gain some time.

As he got out the last part (with a grunt of pain), he heard the door open and a voice calling his name.

"Strange? You there?"

He decided to ignore it too, he was almost done, just needing to rince, disinfect and wrap it up.

He turned around, holding his bloody hand in the other and opened the faucet, exhaling loudly in pain when the water hit his hand and rinced it clean.

He heard footsteps getting closer as he tried to dry it, and turned around only to see his visitor at the kitchen's entrance, hand on the door's holder.

"You okay?" Said the other man, voice slightly concerned. "You weren't answering and the door was opened, so I let myself in."

He walked in and eyed his hand shortly before looking up again, brow furrowed slightly.

Stephen sighed. This is exactly what he wanted to avoid. He tried to just shrug it off and got closer to the table were the first aid kit rested open. He heard his boot crunching something, probably the broken porcelain he dropped.

"I just cut myself with a broken cup, nothing too serious," he said.

Stark nodded slowly, then got closer.

"Do you need a hand? Ugh— No. Bad word choice. Do you need help? It'll be better if someone else does it for you. But you probably know that, being a doctor and all..."

Stephen shook his head "Thank you but I'll do it myself," he answered, then took the bottle of alcohol and sat on one of the chair.

He had to concentrate really hard - and ignore the increasing pain in his hand - to open it, but he succeeded. He put liquid on some cotton and put it in his hand, hissing as quietly as possible and swearing to be more careful the next time.

His eyes tried to tear up but he blinked back the moisture pretty quick. Really, what were some cuts compared to everything he had experienced? The pain, the losses... The deaths.

It was almost sad, he thought, that he was at such point in his life were he could tell himself that sort of things to try and feel better.

Pain was pain, no matter what, trying to reduce his pain by thinking about a greater pain wouldn't help, and at this point he had almost felt them all, so it wasn't such a good idea of perspective.

He got back to the present and threw away the cotton, gazing up at Stark who had gotten closer all the while. He realized he hadn't even saluted the man.

"I'm sorry for this, it wasn't expected. I didn't even have the time to answer you—"

"No it's okay," the other waved him off. "I suddenly texted - well, told - you that I was coming two hours earlier, of course you are not ready to receive me." He shrugged. "Take your time with this, my afternoon's free for today anyway."

"Right..." He trailed off, quickly unfocused.

He looked down at his hand. Thankfully, the cuts weren't deep enough to need stitches, he wouldn't have been able to do them and adding more grave injuries to his hands was deep down on his to-do list.

Some part of his skin have pelted back, and he winced at the view of the muscle underneath. He knew if it wasn't for his lesser sensations due to the nerve damage it would've hurt more.

He tried to put the skin back in place so the wound would close faster, but instead ended up pressing his fingers onto the muscle and inhaled sharply. He retracted his other hand fast and resisted the urge to punch the table in frustration - it would do him no good.

Meanwhile, Tony was watching him struggle with his injury with rapt attention. He had done research on the man, Stephen Strange, renowned neurosurgeon, had a car accident and spent all his money to cure his hands in new and sometimes untested methods, then disappeared with a plane ticket to Katmandu in Nepal some months ago.

Until he one day suddenly reappeared, climbing into an ambulance with weird clothes and a half-dead woman in the center of New York, no electronic traces of him ever travelling back.

It was actually only by pure luck that he found the man. After the recent— no, earlier, since it was another one, incident with his protégé, he had asked Happy to transfer all of the kid's text to him, and had done researchs in case he had missed something as important as that arm dealing stuff. Everything that the authority could handle or that was irrelevant, he had sent to their way or just plained ignored (he had trusted the kid's judgement when he wrote that things have been delt with, but with today's events he may have to go back on that decision— those were thoughts for another time). But some things he had decided to look a bit more into, and that case was one of them.

Unsurprisingly, there had been a video on the social media about the event, and the camera's quality had been good enough that he had been able to see some faces and the hospital's name written on the side of the ambulance.

Everything after that has been easy, a bit of tracking, reading some old news, digging, and suddenly he had something that looked a bit too fishy for him to let anyone else handle it (for now).

So, he had decided to investigate in person (with his armor on standby somewhere near, _just in case_ ).

And here he was now.

Honeslty he... Hadn't really expected anything when he first opened the Sanctum's door (at the time he didn't know what it was). And had he not had previous encouters with magic (however tragically those had ended), he wouldn't have believe it.

But with a bit of faith (which he had in very short notice recently, to be honest), a long discussion (more like a very heated _argument_ ) and some demonstrations (... he'd rather not think about them), he had decided that there wasn't any immediate danger. That _he_ needed to take care of, anyway.

Pun intended, the situation was very strange.

"Look huh..." Strange lifted his head and his attention came back on him, full force. He cleared his throat. "You're sure you don't need a h— some help here? I mean, I've got a bit of experience with wrapping up injuries with the life I've been leading, and nothing to do but to watch you. So I'd rather help you than just stand passively," he said.

He knew the man wouldn't let him help, so he had absolutely no shame in guilt-tripping him into letting him do it. Rodhey had often done it to him in the past, and he'd never admit it, but he always felt grateful when the man made it look like he was doing a favor in allowing the man to dote him. And really, he had nothing to do and the activity would allow him to calm down from his earlier... Activities. (Damn teenagers.)

Strange frowned, then opened his mouth to answer, but he shut it when he saw something behind him.

Tony looked over his shoulder to see the man's floating cape (ah. Cloak, he insisted it was a cloak. The Cloak, actually. He could hear the capital letters in the way he talked.) peering into the room like a curious child. Seeing that it was caught, it briefly straightened then floated peacefully into the room next to its master where its collar turned down briefly, then up to its master's face, then pat his shoulder.

Tony continued before the man had the time register the situation entirely, and took the gauze in the meantime.

"I'm sure your cloak agrees with me, give me your hand Strange, I'll make it quick," he waited palm up for the other to put his hand in it.

Strange turned away from his cloak to look at him, then seeing as he had no other choice, put his injured hand into his palm with a silent sigh. Tony started taking care of it right away.

He took his time, organizing his thoughts after the recent incident, thinking about how he was going to proceed and ask everything he needed to know about Strange. It was strangely (no pun intended this time) cathartic, and he took the opportunity to let go of the stress and adrenaline he had accumulated before coming, relaxing a bit more in his chair (he didn't even remember sitting down).

When he was done, tying the gauze into a neat little knot, he was still lost in his thoughts and didn't notice he hadn't let go of the other's hand until the other tightened it lightly it in his soft grip.

He let go and felt his hand going cold.

"Thank you," the other said, almost whispering and craddling his gauzed hand into the other.

He nodded, "It's nothing."

A beat passed. Then another. And another.

They didn't say anything.

Strange sighed, and got up.

"Let's take this to another room with more comfortable seat," he said and started walking without looking at him.

Tony hummed and followed him out of the kitchen.

•~•~•~•~•

"Please don't hesitate to come back another time if you still have questions, we'll schedule another meeting," Stephen said as Tony ( _"Don't call me Stark, we're not in public, you can call me Tony."_ ) stepped off the last stair.

"Sure," the other answered easily, looking up at him. "See you another day, wizard," he teased.

Stephen huffed, "Not wizard, sorcerer."

"Whatever you say Harry, it doesn't change what you are!" He wriggled his fingers and stepped into his armor which had gotten up while he was talking. (Stephen didn't want to think about his armor sitting here looking like a very blank faced lost puppy. Next time he'd have to let it in, people would ask questions otherwise.)

He rolled his eyes while the other man started flying away, then got back into the Sanctum.

The Cloak had floated away once more while they were talking, and he briefly wondered where it had gone again. Maybe back to the case where he had first found it? Who knew.

He climbed up the stairs after cleaning the rest of the cup's shards, going back to the room he was in before, sat in the seat he left hours ago and tucked his knees up to keep himself warm before the room's natural warmth got to him (he really liked the heat, it was probably one of the only thing he missed from his childhood).

He closed his eyes and let his mind wander back to the previous hours, his breath getting more and more calm as time passed, his heartbeat getting slower too.

Resting lightly on his left knee, ever painful, trembling and scarred, his right hand felt warm.

**Author's Note:**

> **Before you even start commenting or giving kudos, or anything, please read the part in bold.**
> 
> **If you post any work featuring the Cloak of Levitation as a character, please put the tag _The Cloak of Levitation needs its character tag_ in your additional tags. The Cloak is a living entity, just like Dormammu or Nightmare from the comics, it deserves its character tag and I think that if we put it in enough work, we'll be able to give it one. :)**
> 
> I always thought I'd be horrible at fluff (for some reason) but the truth is half of my horrible angsty ideas are as bad as they are so that the sweet stuff tastes like water in a desert.
> 
> So ? You have the ultimate angst lover ™ who somehow never realized she was actually going for the ultimate fluff writer™ title. :b
> 
> Note in the middle of writing : Okay I went off the road buuuuut... I like it ? (No ?)
> 
> By the way ! I put a hint about another Phase 3 movie in this (other than Doctor Strange), can you find it ? ;D
> 
> 2nd note in the middle of writing : lmao this is getting longer than I thought. See people ? This is why I usually don't write, I get lost and want to put too many things. (She said)
> 
> And I doubt you would want to read 17 different versions of the same stories just for one thing to change. (She said) xD
> 
> 3rd note into writing : How do I even title this ???? I've been trying so many names xD
> 
> By the way, make that two hints, one that may give you a lead about which movie I was referring.
> 
> 4th note into writing : These are probably boring, but I don't care. Tony refers to Stephen as the Cloak's master because he doesn't share Stephen's knowledge and reflection about the Cloak's nature. If he did, maybe he would think of them as partners instead. ;)
> 
> I'm not counting the hints anymore. :b
> 
> In the end I didn't really stray off the path !
> 
> Last note : Well okay, that was longer than I thought. Hmmm... Can I really tag this as fluff ? It doesn't strike me as fluff. I don't even know if I could tag them as a romantic couple, sure they... Huh. Like each other, and there's a bit of warmth when they're with the other but yeah, it could be friendship. (Though they're not exactly here anyway).
> 
> Meh, I'll put the tag and pretend it's okay.
> 
> Hope you liked it !


End file.
